reatest Indian fight the country ever knew.

It had been a hard day, and one by one the men dropped off to sleep,
until only Whitey and the old puncher were left, he rolling an
occasional cigarette, and living in that past which the events of the
night had brought back to him. Whitey realized this, and had to admit
that it was a pretty exciting place in which to live. And he wondered if
the old puncher would like to have another page in his book of life; a
sort of explanatory page, like the key in an arithmetic.

It was almost dark in the tent. Only one lighted lantern hung from a
pole. And in low tones, so as not to disturb the sleepers, Whitey told
the old man the story of Injun's mamma's brother and his friend the
scout; and of the White Chief, and the dance, and the arrest and the
escape; and of Injun's father's resolve that "we fight heap!"

The old puncher didn't know who these Indians were of whom Whitey was
talking, but he listened politely at first and interestedly at last. And
when Whitey had finished the story, he added, "Injun's uncle was old
Rain-in-the-Face, and he was a great friend of Charlie Reynolds, the
scout."

Then Whitey crept off to bed, and allowed the old man to figure out in
his mind--as Bill Jordan had done--the start of "the doggonedest Injun
fight this country ever knowed!" And far into the night the old
cowpuncher thought of this other page, added to the book that was to
entertain him as he went down the steeper side of the hill of life.

CHAPTER XXI

UNREST

The second and last week of the threshing at the Hanley Ranch was well
on its way, and nothing had occurred to break the routine of hard work
in the daytime and nights spent in a tent, in an atmosphere laden with
tobacco smoke and the yarns of rough men.

The boys had not succeeded in confirming their suspicions against Henry
Dorgan, and if Dorgan felt any resentment against them, or against the
old cowpuncher who had defended them, he failed to show it.

Whitey now discovered a new trait in his friend Injun--persistence.
Injun was very determined in his efforts to get something on Dorgan. He
had made up his mind that Dorgan had stolen Monty, and his mind was not
like a bed that could be unmade easier than it could be made up. At
first Whitey thought that this was a phase of the Indian's well-known
desire for vengeance, but Injun didn't seem to be vindictive in the
matter. He didn't even mention Dorgan's attempt to pu